Chaos rumbles into the bar with a hammer in one hand. He roars. He kicks over a chair or two. The patrons tremble and cower.
All except one. The Creative Process sits alone in a corner booth, sipping a Madori Sour.
Chaos turns to a window and hurls his hammer. It tumbles end over end toward the glass, strikes it dead center, and sends spiderweb cracks skittering to the corners. He roars again.
"Always breakin' stuff." The Creative Process leaves her booth and ambles over to Chaos. "Always breakin' stuff and making it look so pretty. Just look at those lines. Such a focal point...such raw energy." She points at the broken glass.
Chaos's lower lip quivers. His eyes droop.
"There, there," The Creative Process pats him on the back, "I'll buy you a drink. You'll feel better."